


Milk And Honey Don't Cut It Anymore

by neichan



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adult Content, Challenge Response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-26
Updated: 2006-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: Mistresses challenge. Hope I kept within the word count.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Warnings: death of a sort. Challenge fic. Bloodplay. One shot.  


* * *

He stood in the wind, coming hot off the sand, throwing his head back and letting it take his hair up into wild, kicking disarray. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, prelude to the coming night. It wove it's bloody magic around him, turning his faded red robe to crimson streamers, like dark blood spilled across the twilight sand.

 

He waited, his face uncovered, a rare and wondrous feeling in this dry, desolate place.

The soldiers stood behind him, watching like silent statues, eyes roaming the desert all around, but never failing to return to the long, silver blond hair that whipped around his head, unfettered.

 

It was less than the sound of breath, the arrival of the demon in the new dark. First empty sand all around, with the youth standing tall, skin pale pink where it peeked from his robe, eyes a startling, hungry blue, then, he was no longer alone.

 

Arms hard and strong as the pyramids themselves, enduring, folded around him snatched him up and fangs buried themselves deep into his throat as he cried out, startled. All around him, the soldiers stepped back, falling to one knee in a wave of motion, swords remaining sheathed as they lowered their heads. There knives had been meant for him if he should flee, not the one who came.

 

The vampire took him, the virgin sacrifice, there on the sand, only the threadbare robe between his moist, luscious skin and the cutting, dessicated grains. Bent over him, the gold of his eyes burning into the blue ones, his covering torn away.

 

Nude, bare to the eyes of all around he was taken by the demon. His legs raised, his body wet and slicked with oil, prepared for this hours ago, washed and oiled, the prayers murmured into his ear as it was done by careful fingers, reverent hands.

 

For this. This hard, long, thick rod of flesh piercing him until he let out a cry, stunned that it should hurt, even while it rolled his eyes back, his chest heaving, his body burning to please. The demon took him. Rode him. Fed from him. His blood dripping down it's chin.

 

And all around, all around the sighs, the soldiers, the sand, sighing, his breath coming fast, sweet and hard. Until he cried out, arching as the demon claimed him, his last reserve. His eyes fluttering as he faded, his heart racing, faltering. He waited for the decision, as the demon pulled from him, wet and slick, it's seed dripping over his legs, his balls, his belly.

 

Then the kiss, a bitten tongue filling his mouth with the vampire's blood. Oh, the ambrosia of the ages, more than the biblical milk and the honey so desired, the memory of time flashing.

 

He opened his once dying, now living eyes. Looked up into the starred sky, his hands coming up to hold the sky lifted, ridged face.

 

He sighed the name, said it with worship, with love, with the knowledge this was his sire.

 

"Angel." He said, as naked to the night, he lived, again.


	2. Chapter 2

He raised his hand to them, to the ranks of soldiers on their knees. They rose, eyes cast down as he walked among them, leather creaking, metal sighing, waiting while he chose. Behind him, in the circle's center, the undead body of his sacrifice writhing on the ripped, red robe, a sculpture of white, sunk deep in blood. Dark, between the sweet curve of thigh, the shadowed cleft, where the demon had taken his sacrifice. Still wanton, still wanted. Waiting.

 

The demonkind walked among them, his amber golden eyes brilliant, his passage an icy breeze, his milk pale skin glowing blue white in the rays of the moon. Huge gibbous moon hanging low and close, pitted, raw. And under it the demon walked, naked, among them.

 

He walked among them and chose from their ranks. A soldier raised, two, pulled in his wake until he cast them down on the sand, to hands and knees next to his sacrifice, his new Childe. The youth who moaned, skin smeared with drying demon seed, with the crust of dark blood at his lips, at his neck, torn. Gasping mouth open to new, budding fangs. Arms reaching, reaching....

 

The demon took them, the men who bore swords and knives, spears and weilded axes, who fought and prayed to him, their dark and forbidding ghod. He took them and drank their virile blood, a kiss of sharpened fangs, pressed their ragged wrists to his Childe's new mouth. Beamed in proud possession as the Childe, his beautiful one, drank his fill.

 

They lay, sprawled, next to the ravenous, princely Childe, the new one who would feed and feed and feed, bent low over them. With these two, his chosen guardians, to watch over him, to wield deadly blade and spear, to keep him safe. The demon gave to them the elixir of unending life, his blood, to bind them to his Childe. His New One. He who crouched over them, hungry, with dark pupiled eyes sparkling with the brilliance of the thousand stars.

 

The demon leaned in close, brushing aside that silver hair, spread like a wash of spilled white milk around him, finding the shell of his ear, amid all that satiny cascade, whispering.

 

"Yours. They are yours, forever." He caressed the pliant thigh as the neck fell back, curving, succulent, offering him more, another round of bliss...He moved in close, hard again, against the arched back, the lush buttocks, seeking the still warm crevice. Fingers spreading over the lifted breast, discovering the copper, smooth paps that grew firm under his touch. Entering the velvet soft tunnel, hot vise, the gasp of his Childe against his shoulder, he drove in, up, deep.

 

Lifted the pale, moonlit body in his arms, held him, arched against the power of his Sire, hair streaming, mouth wide, limbs outflung, took him, ravaged him again, his silken flesh. Demon seed rising, rising from the recesses, to fill him, beloved, claimed, Childe. The seed of the Childe spilling out, spilling out, flung across the trampled robe. Sire's teeth finding the cream of his Childe's flesh.

 

Freeing the cry that rose, wafting. A sound that rose..that filled the valley, sped across the sand, with nothing to stop it, nothing to slow. Until.... Stopped up against the wall, the bricks of the city wall.

 

Stopping when the priest heard the anticipated, blessed cry, the sacrifice accepted, the blood, the demon appeased. He turned, his aged body filled with the longing of chances lost, of when he might have been the one to lie in the demon's arms, his body opened with the rampant sword made flesh.

 

He turned and lit the lamp, old hand trembling, the one lamp with the amber glass, the flame flickered, failed, then caught and shone in the window, down on the upturned faces, with a light like the demon's eyes.

 

The undying one. Demon Ghod.


End file.
